


Heir of Ash and Fire

by CrimsonLoner



Series: Heir of Ash and Fire [1]
Category: Berserk (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Abortion, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Blood and Violence, CascaandGutsfriendship, Character Death, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, First Kiss, Grief/Mourning, Griffithishisownwarning, GriffithlovesGuts, Gutsisabadasswoman, GutslovesGriffith, Gutsneedsahugandblanket, Human Sacrifice, Jealousy, M/M, Medium Burn, My First Work in This Fandom, Original Character(s), Past Rape/Non-con, Pregnancy, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con Elements, Swords, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Unplanned Pregnancy, Zodisimpressed, casca/griffithone-sided, genderbentGuts, hate/love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2019-11-06 13:30:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17940617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrimsonLoner/pseuds/CrimsonLoner
Summary: The only thing that mattered to Guts was battle; where to find it, how to win it. She was content wandering from one battle field to the next, depending on no one, but her sword to get her through the day.Her life is changed one day, when a silver-haired man with piercing blue eyes, and an idealistic dream wins both a duel and her freedom.The man, Griffith, intends to win her over, to keep her willing to fight for him and only him--too bad Guts won't make it easy for him.******  Berserk is not mine! Only a select few characters are mine, along with any variations in the plot; I make no money, while creating this work of fiction. Please read the tags: if any of this makes you uncomfortable,  please go on your merry way.





	1. Apoletesma

**Author's Note:**

> My first work in this fandom; mind the tags please.

Prologue:

 

The girl's body crashed against the ground with a resounding 'splash', water spilt from the shallow pool her prone body laid within, seeping through blood-soaked clothes. Thick clouds parted, allowing the stars to gaze upon the girl's still form; the moon seemed to shine all the brighter when she shuddered awake; a heart-wrenching whimper escaping her split lips.  
Like a thick fog, the cold numbness of unconsciousness lifted from her mind, giving way to excruciating pain. Opening her eyes with a shout, the girl revealed glowing, golden orbs towards the night sky; the stars flickered and flared, seemingly excited.  
Her eyes widened in awe, and her pain momentarily forgotten, as she took in the radiance of the floating, pale orb that stood out against the consuming darkness of the black sky.  
Her eyes shone like hellfire for a moment more, before dulling to honey brown; her pain once again present, but had surprisingly lessened, to an extent. Taking a shuddering breath, she managed to find purchase against the slick, uneven ground and forced herself up; a single thought repeating itself with in her mind: 'I'm not dead, yet.'

*Apotelesma: the influence that stars have over human destiny.


	2. Kermes

Four years later...

Cannon fire ricocheted off the castle walls, debris flying every-which-way, sparring no one from the fallout. Men raced towards the battle-torn castle, jarring battle cries alerting their oncoming presence to both the trembling women and children locked within, and the enemy soldiers fighting to keep them out. The oncoming group split off--some racing towards siege ladders, half falling to either released arrows or hot oil, and falling to their deaths; the others took up the place of deceased mercenaries, heaving the gigantic battering ram against the wide, wooden doors of the keep.

My feet carried me towards the castle doors, thickly heeled boots thudding against the dusty, flat ground, with only the occasional jump over a stray corpse; armor clinking together, and my brilliant red scarf flying in my wake. Managing to dodge the oncoming steel bolts, and javelins, I reach the gathered men and grip a section of the ram; muscles straining under the massive weight, I grit my teeth and lift along with the mercenaries, pulling back before baring down on the splintering door. Thrice more thrusts, and soon with a startling 'crack', the door fell away, allowing us entrance.

With a victorious shout, mercenaries raced past us, spilling through the broken door and in the process, jostled me enough to drop the ram before I could set it down. One merc glared at me, having had to take up my lack of weight, I dismiss him with a shrug before I began to push my way through the crowd of rushing mercs.

"Go!" Commanded the general, thrusting his short sword out with gusto; puffing himself up like a stuffed pheasant, atop his fair steed. I maneuver around the ass, throwing a sneer his way before pulling my broadsword from its sheath and charged forward with the rest of them, almost missing my employer proclaim, 'Whoever can kill the general, gets a prize!'. My strides become more determined afterwards.

Catching movement from my peripheral, I arch my sword down, cutting through my first enemy, cleaving through his armor like butter; blood spewed from his open wound, brown eyes widened in shock, before rolling back into the recess of his skull. Quickly pulling my sword free, I manage to block an incoming attack from my left, pushing back against the force and caused the man to stagger back, providing me ample opportunity to catch him at his exposed side: with a scream, he collapsed.

Commotion further within the castle, caught my interest; especially when one of the mercenaries went flying over a horde of charging men, and soon after that, agonized screams filled the air and the men stopped: hesitating. Cutting another enemy down, I hurried towards the courtyard of the castle, killing a few more soldiers along the way--though, the fighting seemed to have stopped for the meantime. 

My curiosity piqued, I sheath my sword and push through the throng of men, and happened upon the sight of another merc cut down by a giant, metaled oaf; relieving the merc of his head. The mercs began whispering among themselves, voices filled with both disbelief and anxiousness; this only increased my interest, heart racing at the thought of a challenge.

"That's Bazuso!" one merc whispered to the man beside him, "The Grey Knight, Bazuso!" Raising a brow in curiosity, I strain to hear more over the bustling of the frantic voices.

"The Thirty-Man Slayer, Bazuso?" the other queried, shock coloring his voice. The previous merc nodded vigorously, shifting from one foot to the other, before speaking again.

"I heard he killed those men with his bare hands!" a collective shudder ran through the now wary men, the sight alone had me snorting and throw a look towards the sky. Our employer eventually made an appearance, maneuvering his steed through the crowd, and began barking--demanding what the problem was. One merc, a little bit younger than the rest of the cowering men, hastily jumped to inform him of the situation, his voice soured by anxiety.

"No one can pass this point, sir!" The general furrowed his thick brows, sweat pooling underneath his helm.

"Where are the archers?" he questioned, but before any of the men could answer, the Iron Oaf, Bazuso, laughed at the terrified mercs.

"Whoever wants their head smashed, come forth!" he taunted. Not a single man moved; their feet frozen in place as they took in Bazuso's hulking form. Their immobility really made it even more difficult to push my way through.

"What are you waiting for; no one dares fight him?" the orotund voice of our, puffed up general rang off the inner walls of the keep, "Do you call yourselves knights? Go!"

The men gathered, were in fact not knights; a fact they vehemently reminded the general of. The pompous ass cursed under his breath, frustrated at the mercenaries' unwillingness to meet an early death. No matter; their unwillingness could prove a greater reward for myself.

Finally breaking free of the flock of mercenaries, I make my way past the irritable coxcomb, ignoring his baffled look as I reach back to grip the hilt of my broadsword. I could feel the many eyes of the men around me, both enemy and ally alike; some shook their helmeted heads in disbelief, but most snickered--both at my young age, and my audacity on being present on a battlefield; the rest just murmured about the size of my sword. But it didn't matter, my gaze was solely focused on the, "Thirty-Man Slayer".

"Boy; are you going to fight Bazuso?" My employer questioned, and I spare a moment to roll my eyes before answering.

"How much?" I briskly inquire, missing his puzzled look thrown my way; after all, my voice was too feminine sounding--even for a young boy, and out of place on a battlefield.

"W,what?" he stuttered out, clearly at a loss for words. Sighing irritably, I rudely jerk my thumb at the fat, metaled oaf, and cut a look at the general.

"The prize for the ass' head--whatever, Thirty Man-slayer." I clarify; annoyance growing at the man's slack-jawed look.

"I'm a mercenary," I state, "I'm not like you, looking for rank and glory: I'm in it for the pay."

Seeming to come out of his shock, the man stuttered out a confirmation, and soon regaining his cockiness; snorting at the very idea that I could possibly do any damage to the hulking mass of Bazuso.

"I'll give you five gold coins for his head." I eyed him shrewdly.

"Ten coins." His dark eyes bugged out of his head, balking at my counter offer.

"Seven coins, and that's it!" he shrieked, jaw set. My lips slanted in a frown, before throwing a curt, 'tch' his way.

"Cheap fucker." I muttered under my breath, though I didn't particularly care if he did hear me. Sighing, I cocked my hip to one side and size-up Bazuso, catching him doing the same--though his inspection made my skin crawl, especially when his swinish eyes lingered on the sight of my protected chest.

"You'll regret this, little girl," he sneered, finally lifting his unwelcome gaze from my chest. "You'll lose your head for seven gold coins!"

I plant my feet shoulder width apart, set my shoulders, and bend my knees for a charge.

"Your army lets little whores fight?" he scoffed, looking down upon me, "Guess that means they don't have enough men, eh?"

Breathe in, and out--calm your thoughts.

"Only sniveling cowards, and weak-willed men let little girls fight for them!" Bazuso brazenly laughed; causing the mercs to bristle in indignation. But they didn't matter, what did matter was the fact that Bazuso let his guard down.

Now!

Using the distraction, I charge at him; pulling my sword free and raising it high above me. Bazuso let out a startled yelp, barely having enough time to block my attack. Undeterred, I bring my sword back, and swing again, lightning fast and for a short while, the only sound resounding throughout the courtyard was the thrilling and familiar melody clanging iron. Soon, the shocked exclamations of the spectators steadily overtook it.

"S,so fast! She moves so fast!" One merc exclaimed, voice strangled with disbelief at the sight of a woman--no, a girl, putting up a decent fight, and winning.

My quick attacks continued to put the iron pig on the defensive, making him lose a considerable amount of ground, and soon I cornered him against the line of his allies. Said allies, looked on with flabbergasted looks at the shocking turn of events.

But, soon Bazuso had had enough of being pushed around by a pathetic whore, it seemed-- because, as soon as I pulled my sword back once again, muscles straining deliciously, he swung his ax violently down with an enraged roar. I, admittedly, wasn't expecting him to counter-attack so soon, but I never faltered; I simply, and swiftly, changed the position of my sword, and met his axe head-on: landing a shattering blow, dead center of his battle ax.

Tiny, thin spider-web like cracks raced up along the center of the axe, shocking Bazuso along with those gathered. Pulling my sword free, an excitable thrill shot through me like lightning--racing up my spine at godspeed; with a grunt, I jumped back before charging at him once again. He shouted out, but I was blind to his pleas of mercy as I raced towards the killing blow.

He swung his damaged axe, aiming for my head, while I ducked. His ax met the top of my helmet, and crumbled on impact; he missed, I didn't.

Helmet flying high in the air; iron split, and flesh tore--blood spilt passed my embedded sword from the side of Bazuso. Both the shocked and enraged shouts of his allies rallied against the jeers and hollers of disbelief from the mercenaries; Bazuso was overcome by shock, his legs gave out moment later, his life-blood spilling copiously from his injured side. He looked upon the bared face of the girl warrior; fear filling him as he looked into her blazing eyes, beseeching them for mercy, but finding none.

With a final lift of my heavy blade, I brought it down upon Bazuso's metaled head, splitting it open like a melon; blood rose from the crater of his fractured skull, drenching my armor and exposed face. Sliding my sword free, his body fell towards the earth with a heavy 'thud'.

"Phew."

___________

 

*Kermes: brilliant red color.


	3. Solivagant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry for the wait! Here's chapter three, though it would be good to take note that this is only half of the full chapter. I had to split the chapter because it was just getting sooo long and I wanted to post it. Hope you enjoy it!

After the fall of Bazuso, both sides gaped in disbelief at my revealed face; not having believed that I was really a girl, and that said girl took down the hulking figure of Bazuso. Their shock didn’t last long, for no sooner had I collected my discarded helm from the dusty ground, that my temporary allies bellowed victory cries and fell upon the opposing force with vigor. Replacing my helm back in its proper place, I take a moment to internally take stock of my person; noting no serious injuries, I reach for my face guard. 

Feeling a substance drip down my face, I pause before reaching for my face, momentarily worried that I actually received a head injury from Bazuso’s final blow. There was only a slight pounding within my skull, nothing really serious and the more I searched, I quickly came to the conclusion that the substance wasn’t my blood, but Bazuso’s. I barely managed a short sigh of relief, before a hulking mass loomed over me; glancing quickly to the side, I took in my opponent--another hulking, axe-wielding oaf--before maneuvering out of striking distance. Using some quick footwork, I lunged towards him and plunged my sword through his gut. Rolling my eyes with a snort, I disposed of the knight’s limp body and made my way back into the thick of battle.  
Unknown to her, two piercing blue eyes followed her as she made her way through enemy after enemy, humming in intrigue. 

***

A group of men idled near the west battlements, overlooking the courtyard with gaping looks and quiet cries of disbelief. A woman--no, a girl--took out Bazuso, then took out a knight of similar size just as easily. 

“She, she--” stuttered one of the men, voice somewhat dazed sounding as he followed the girl with his eyes, frequently glancing towards the silvered figure of his leader before latching back onto the girl’s disappearing frame. After another momentary lapse of muttered disbelief, the mercenary cracked a grin and addressed his leader, tone playful.

“Who do you think’s stronger? You or her?” not a moment afterwards, another mercenary was quick to rebuff the jest. 

“There’s no comparison,” he shot a grin at their leader. “Right, Griffith?” The man, known as Griffith, was silent for a moment longer causing his followers to drop their teasing and shift uneasily. Then he spoke, turning away from the sight of battle and ordering his men to retreat--they were quick to follow.

***

After an hour, maybe two, the siege was over and Tudor was the glaring victor of the ordeal. Not that it particularly mattered to me; all that I cared about at the moment was getting my damned gold and finding another contractor, and maybe something to eat. Glaring at nothing in particular, I impatiently wait for my employer to show his ass and pay me; huffing, I cross my arms and soon my foot begins a rhythmic tap, tap, tapping. Loud, high-pitched wails momentarily drew my attention before, with a wince, I jerked my attention away. No matter how many battles I’ve fought, the outcome is always the same; the men were killed, and the woman and children were thrown to the metaphorical wolves. Though I’ve fought many a battle, the pitying sight of gathered women and children, with their heart-wrenching wails and defeated faces always twisted my stomach, giving me another reason to quickly get the out of there. 

Tugging gently at my calloused fingers, impatience increasing and now accompanied by nervousness, I glance out towards the ruined battlefield with a sigh. Just as I was about to say ‘fuck it’, and go searching for the ass myself he appeared seemingly out of thin air, gnawing on a chicken bone. Skin crawling, I grimaced at the leer he threw my way, increasing my urge to bolt.

After what seemed like an eternity, he finally tore his eyes from my person, and turned to one of his men to inquire about my payment; Letting out a quiet sigh, I cock my hip as I wait for them to finish speaking.  
With a sordid cackle--his men having no doubt made a vulgar joke, at my expense--he turned back towards me and lazily tossed a coin purse my way. 

“Here’s a half-year’s wages, and the reward for slaying Bazuso.”  
I snatched the pouch out of the air, and wasted no time opening it; ignoring both his praise of my battle prowess, and crude remarks regarding my body and it’s use to the male form. It wasn’t the first time an entitled ass propositioned me, and I doubt it’ll be the last, especially in my line of work. 

He was still flapping his gums by the time I was done, finishing off with a quick bite to the remaining coin, ensuring it was real; though he seemed to eventually catch on to the fact that I wasn’t listening. More hesitantly, and a bit irritably, he asked what I thought about his ‘proposal’; I answered by stuffing my coin into my knapsack, and swiftly turning on my heel--towards the entrance of the castle. He began to sputter as I finally glanced at, sneering over my shoulder.

“The contract’s up today, right?” his eyes widened at my abrupt question, mouth opening and closing like a fish. “The fighting around here is done anyway.” 

With a flick of my scarf, I began trekking away. The toad was quick to follow, asking why I would continue to throw myself into dangerous battles, when I could obtain an easier lifestyle.  
‘Yeah, like your personal whore.’ I thought with a snort, brows furrowing in irritation. It was pathetic, how he was outright begging me not to leave; did he have no self-respect, what-so-ever? Soon enough though, all irritation quickly fled as soon as he grabbed me. 

Memories--horrible, disgusting memories quickly caused panic to well up within me, and I paused for a moment as his faced appeared inside the recess of my mind. Just as quick as the panic came, just as quickly it left fury settling in its place.Whipping around so fast, causing him to startle, I ripped my arm from his grasp glaring his shocked form with all consuming anger. 

“Don’t touch me!” I bellowed, startling the ass even more.Taking a moment to breath and calm, I continued to glare in his direction. “Don’t you ever touch me.” 

My shout drew attention from the other gathered men, who shifted from foot to foot in unease. Noting this, I forced myself to calm down and turned away from the gaping toad and resumed my path towards the war-torn battlefield--away from here. I ignored the insults now pouring from his mouth; the mattered little to me, they were just words of wounded pride, and nothing else.

 

 

After a day of walking along the worn path, and the castle far, far from sight, I began mentally rationing my coin.With the amount of coin I earned, I should be able to last for a good while until I could find another battle to fight. 

‘If I forego sleeping at any inns, and just set up camp, then--’ a distant sound tore me from my thoughts. Pausing, I surveyed my surroundings with narrowed eyes, taking in the rolling hills and sparse forestry; perfect for an ambush. Eyes catching on the sight of a ruined castle, nature long since possessing it, I scrutinized the structure for a long moment, head tilted in alertness as I waited for the sound to return. The only sound that came was the sweet whistling of the wind, leaving me unsure and second-guessing. 

‘Just my imagination…?’ I question, letting out a huff and focused back on the road. But, just as I dismissed the noise, the sudden and jolting sound of hoof-beats echoed throughout the valley; quickly following the sound, my eyes widened in shock as a party of men raced towards me, weapons raised and bellowing jeers pouring from their mouths. 

‘Robbers?’ I thought, shock replaced with irritation. Swiftly discarding my knapsack, I scanned the group, counting six, but I wouldn’t be surprised if more showed. One began to advance towards me as I reached for my broadsword, and by then I had already pinpointed a weakness in his guard. 

Bringing his sword back--somewhat sloppily, I might add--he let out a battle cry as he reached me. As he swung down, I dodged his blow and arched my own blade down--though, unlike his attack, mine didn’t miss. Blood sprayed from the bandit’s side, as he made a sound of shock before his eyes rolled and he fell haphazardly from his horse. I had no time to pause though, for soon enough a behemoth of a man was suddenly upon me, and I had to act fast.  
He brought his three-chained flail, managing to land a shallow cut upon my unprotected cheek, and I returned the favor by severing his arm from his body. This action caused the rest of the bandit party to pause, no-doubt realizing I wouldn’t be as easy a target as they thought. Having a moment due to their hesitance, I scanned the group for the apparent leader of the group, settling on the man who began barking orders at the others. Noting their hesitance, and the panic in the supposed leader’s movements, I decided I should bring the fight to them so I can swiftly end this pathetic excuse of a fight.  
The leader’s panic increased ten-fold when he realized I was suddenly upon him, his squawking would’ve been amusing in a different, but it just flared my irritation. ‘Why attack me, if you’re too cowardly to fight me?!’ 

He squealed like a pig ready for slaughter, but before I could deal the killing blow, an arrow pierced my flesh jarring me enough to pause in my attack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Solivagant: Lone Wanderer


	4. Nix

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuation

“Casca!” called the Coward, relief dripping from his voice. I turn from him, towards ‘Casca’ and raised a brow. It wasn’t a man, as far as I could tell--with their small and slight frame, most likely a boy from the sight of ‘em. Though I dared not underestimate him, he held that crossbow just as any experienced soldier would, and his dark eyes that peeked through his helm, gave away the analytical scrutiny he latched onto me.

The Coward made note of his surprise at the boy for helping, to which the boy was quick to say that he was ordered to. The octave of his voice began to make me suspicious, and the name of their true leader, Griffith, peaked my interest but I didn’t allow it to linger. Locking glares with the boy, I tore the arrow from arm just as he carelessly tossed the crossbow aside, drawing his short-sword. 

As soon as his sword was free of its sheath, he urged his horse forward, and much to my chagrin, there wasn’t any apparent weakness within his guard. Reaching me, he brought his sword down at an alarming speed, I managed to block his attack and stun him at the same time. He didn’t stay stunned for long though, and soon enough he brought his sword down again, and again, and again and I matched him blow for blow. His offensive stance didn’t last long, and soon he was on the offensive as I felt my swiffer, and heavier blows; causing him to stagger and struggle to keep up. My admiration for the boy grew, as I’ve haven’t come across anyone who could keep up with me in years, but I knew this little squirmish wouldn’t last: he was tiring quickly and his movements were becoming sloppy and desperate. 

Sighing quietly, I decided to end this fight quickly. Having found an opening in his guard. I thrust up, up towards his protected head, wanting to give him a swift and painless death, but he surprised me yet again. The young merc managed to dodge my attack, causing my blade to meet with their helm, and flinging it up and away from the merc, revealing his--her--face. 

Dark orbs met blazing amber, the later widened in shock, while the former lowered in a defiant glare. The girl flew from her horse, which promptly galloped away in the absence of it’s rider, landing with a harsh thud. She didn’t stay down for long, for just as quickly as she landed, she was right back on her feet; with a frustrated roar, she flew towards me, sword raised and eyes lit with determination. If we weren’t currently fighting for our lives, I’d think we would’ve been fast friends in a different situation. But, her being a girl doesn’t mean I’ll let her live--her group still initiated this confrontation, and they’ll pay with their lives. 

***

Griffith was smiling; no, no he was absolutely grinning as he took in the sight of the woman warrior taking on his second in command. He couldn’t believe his luck when Corkus sighted the woman from yesterday, the woman who slayed the Great Bazuso. He remembered the feeling of wonder, eyes widening at her revealed face, and the thrill that raced down his spine when he took in the sight of her blazing eyes; eyes akin to hellfire. He had a feeling then, when she dealt the killing blow, and stood over Bazuso’s bloodied corpse, with a look of complete apathy, that this woman would play a key role in achieving his Dream--and Griffith always follows his gut feeling. 

Such as now: if he doesn’t interfere now, Casca will surely die, and it’d be such as shame to lose her. With that, Griffith turned upon his heel and made his way towards his armor, still grinning all the while.

‘Yes, this is truly fate smiling down upon me.’

***

I had her, she was laying helpless upon the ground, her weapon flung from her grasp and looking up towards my towering form with dread. But, before I could deal the kill a javelin sliced through the air, and embedded itself within the ground, startling me enough to pause my attack. My muscles screamed in protest when I did so, causing my teeth to grind as I kept it frozen above me and cast my gaze away from the girl’s, now relieved, dark orbs. 

‘This must be their leader.’ was my only thought, as I took in the sudden appearance of a well armored mercenary. 

Eyes scanning his form, Guts was reluctant to admit--even within the privacy of her mind--that the man was intimidating. He wasn’t bulky or gigantic; he seemed of average build, maybe even slimmer if he wasn’t donning armor. But, it wasn’t his build that caused her to stomach twist in unfamiliar nerves--it was his eyes. His piercing, blue eyes that seemed to rip through her defenses, stripping her to nothing and leaving her vulnerable; the feeling both shocking and unwanted, very unwanted.   
Banishing her unease, Guts mustered up a glare and threw it his way, giving him an exaggerated once over, before sneering at him. This seemed to amuse him, which infuriated her.

“Griffith!” the girl called, relief coloring her voice. The gathered mercs seemed to share in her relief, the Coward cockily commenting that it, ‘was the end of the road’ for me. But I payed none of them any attention, my focus was solely on the man making his way towards me.

“Be careful!” informed the girl, who now appeared a bit apprehensive the closer her leader got. “She’s tougher than she appears, Griffith.” I huffed at that particular comment. He paused at a safe distance, still watching me before he decided to speak.

“Would you lower your sword?” He asked, the silvery tone of voice surprising me somewhat, as I was expecting a much more penetrating one. Though that inkling of surprise was tossed aside as I took in his question, and responding by gripping the hilt of my sword harder, feet planted. He sent me an indulgent smile, which pissed me off to all hell.

“I guess not.” and with that he drew his rapier, and threw his horse into a gallop, just as I raised my own sword and dashed towards his advancing figure. Focusing all of my power into my burning arms, I swung down with all my might upon him.

The result was shocking.

Metal clashed against metal, as he met my blow with seemingly no trouble at all, causing my eyes to widen in disbelief--even though the girl had kept up with me, a hit like this would’ve caused her to stagger and fall from her horse, this man--Griffith--didn’t even flinch. Blue locked with amber, and continued to do so, even when Griffith used the mobility of his stead and the switching of sword angles, to cause Guts’ sword to slide against and off of his sword, causing her to lose her balance. 

‘What!?’ Before I could reclaim my senses and fully maneuver my body back towards him, he struck back as quick as lighting. I had no time to block his oncoming attack, allowing him to break past my crumbling defense and pierce my unguarded underarm--a fatal blow. 

Time seemed to stop, as I took in his sword piercing my flesh, my mind racing to make sense of this unexpected outcome. I watched as my blood coated his sword, before he swiftly tore it out of me, then I was falling. The only thought running through my muddled mind, was the simple words, ‘too fast..!’ .

As my body hit the ground, eyes taking in the enchanting blue of the sky, I could hear the loud and bellowing cries of the mercenaries as they praised their leader’s battle prowess, though black spots were quickly swarming my vision, and their voices were becoming distant. I couldn’t move, and for a moment, my mind flashed to a long, unwanted memory; a young girl running from a burning camp, blood covering her hands and tears running down her face, before falling, falling down. 

“And just like that night,” came an airy, and serene voice that enveloped my mind. “The girl will rise again, and trek on--because she does not know how to die quietly.” 

Feeling a new-found strength flowing through her, Guts’ eyes flashed open, blazing as they did that night. She struggled to her feet, shocking the company surrounding her; piercing the ground with her sword, adjusting her balance. Her enraged eyes met awe-filled blue, as she began staggering her way towards him, completely ignoring the other swords-woman, who stood in front of her leader protectively. Though, just as Guts was about to reach him, Griffith dismissed Casca, ordering her to stand aside--much to her and the company’s disbelief. 

Casca moved aside and warily watched as Guts reached Griffith, both watching the other--Griffith, calm and serene; Guts, enraged and blood-thirsty. The company shouted in unison, as Guts raised her sword with an rancorous cry, with their leader making no move to block her attack--though they were quickly put at ease, when the woman suddenly staggered and fell back towards the dirt-worn ground with a heavy ‘thud’, and a weak sigh. 

Guts watched, through bleary orbs as the man, Griffith, removed his helm; revealing long, silver tresses that illuminated with the sun’s glow, and a comely face the peered down towards her prone body. Guts thought, in that moment, that death had never looked so beautiful before, before finally giving in to the heaviness of her eyelids and embraced oblivion. 

While falling into that welcoming embrace, Guts missed Griffith smiling triumphantly as he took in her unconscious form.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nix: White-haired


	5. Opto: Choose;Wish For;Desire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Hawk walks with the Hound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I'm alive (barely)! I've been having trouble with this chapter for months, and was *finally* able to finish it, and I don't hate it (yay!). Along with figuring out how to properly write this chapter, I've also had some personal issues going on, and that just sucked the joy out of writing for awhile. But, I've gotten back into the grove of writing, so here ya go! I hope you enjoy!

_ No matter how quickly she ran, she couldn’t out run the gargantuan entity pursuing her. The world around her shook with every loud, and thundering foot fall of the monster, striking fear down into her very core. She tried slashing at it, every time it reached for her, but it would always regenerate in a blink of an eye; she tried calling for help, but her cries were only met with scathing remarks--the voice of her adopted father, her betrayer, laughing cruelly at her distraught visage, spitting out, “ _ **_You should’ve died!”_ **

_ Those words are, and will forever be etched into her mind, and she could only stare helplessly at the specter of Gambino as the monster snatched her up. Her panic returned ten-fold, when she happened to look upon the monster’s face and saw the repulsive face of Donovan.  _

_ “ _ **_No!_ ** _ ” she screamed, voice shrill and desperate as it echoed within the void. “ _ **_Don’t touch me! Don’t you fucking touch me!”_ **

_ A sudden touch gripped her shoulder tight, the touch different from Donovan’s: small, soft, yet firm and calloused. The image of black eyes pierced through the nightmare, dissolving the spectres of my past. They were neither welcoming or warm, but they offered safety and a peace of mind which helped Guts fall into a dreamless sleep.  _

_ *** _

With a start, Guts awoke with ragged breath, and a brow heavy with sweat. Through the fog of her groggy mind, she struggled to take in her surroundings, idly wondering why she was still alive. Shifting, she made to sit upright, and in doing so was immediately reminded of her wound, which in turn brought forth the image of the one who inflicted it: Griffith. Pushing through the discomfort, she sat fully up and began taking in her surroundings, feeling relief when she found her stuff nearby and easily accessible. Though it was short-lived when she found her sword missing, instilling a mixture of panic and anger to flare up inside her. 

‘ _ That _ **_Bastard_ ** _!’ _ with that thought, Guts sprang up from the makeshift cot, gritting her teeth at the consistent throbbing of her wound, and tore through the tent in search for her sword. When the tent resembled the aftermath of a high-wind storm, Guts let out a silent scream before turning her blazing eyes towards the entrance of the tent. ‘ _ That  _ **_BASTARD!_ ** ’ she thought for the second time.

Wasting no time, she tore through the tent’s flaps and stumbled outside. For a single moment, she was put off at the sight of numerous men, before her mind connected the fact that she was in a mercenary camp, and refocused on her immediate goal:  _ find that asshole, Griffith _ . It took only a cursory search before she found him, talking to that other swords-woman, and her previous fury ignited, merging to like likes of a forest fire, and urged her feet to move. She ignored the mercenaries that eyed her warily as she marched towards their leader--hell, she’d take them all on if they decide to get in her way. 

Griffith finally caught sight of her, and to her ire, he looked as if he was trying to stop himself from grinning. He motioned the girl, Casca, aside when she too caught sight of the approaching threat, and had stepped in front of him. She shot him an exasperated look, but ultimately followed his orders, glaring all the while at Guts. Not that she noticed, she was too focused on the smug ass that took her sword. As soon as she reached them, and with a swiftness that surprised anyone watching, Guts’ hand shot out and gripped the neckline of Griffith’s shirt, yanking him towards her, so that there was scant an inch between their faces. 

“Where.Is.It? '' she practically spat the words, so great was her anger, her indignation at him taking it from her--as if he had the  _ right  _ to touch it _. _

“You--” once again, Casca sought to intervene, and once again Griffith ordered her to stand down. The entire company of mercenaries waited with bated breath for their leader to make even the slightest move, some with their hands firmly latched onto their weapons of choice. But, what their leader did, threw them all off--Guts included. He  _ laughed _ , down right cackled, as he was glared down by a furious Guts. She was beyond angry, and just as she was about to curse him to hell and back, he grinned teasingly at her. 

“You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?” the comment was accompanied with a raised brow, cementing his amusement at her actions. She was puzzled by his meaning, which gave him ample opportunity to remove her from himself. She ended up releasing him before he had a chance to ever grab her, she even went so far as to take two steps back from his still form; the action intrigued Griffith, who was quick to take note of it, casting it away into the recesses of his mind to ponder it at a later date. Though her gaze had wavered during that split moment, they sharpened once again and met his piercing blue. 

 Before she could open her mouth, no doubt to either curse him out, or to demand the whereabouts of her sword, Griffith shot an order towards Casca. 

“Casca, would you mind taking stock of our provisions?” his request was answered with a vexed expression. Casca had made no secret of her dislike for the stranger in their midst, she had even gone so far as to question Griffith’s sparing the life of an obvious wildcard. He knew she would make conversing with the girl in question difficult, so he wanted her preoccupied with a task; which she was quick to pick up on. Thankfully, Casca decided to hold her tongue, and with a hesitant nod she made her leave--though not before she made a point to knock into the other girl’s injured shoulder. 

Guts hissed at the intended assault, and made to turn towards the retreating swords-woman to curse her out, but her attention was once again focused on Griffith when he cleared his throat. Snapping her eyes back towards his relaxed form, she found him smiling charmingly at her--instantly her guard went up, her distrust shining through her amber orbs. 

  “I’m Griffith,” He introduced, though Guts had already took note of his name before--not that she would ever tell him that. It was silent for a moment, as he continued to watch her silently, eventually one of his pale brows ticked up, and he asked for her name. After another moment, where she stared warily at him, she finally gave him her name.

  “Guts.” she grunted, idly flexing her left arm, and felt her injury throb in response. The other brow joined the other, though more out of amusement, than the familiar look of befuddlement that most wore when finally learning her name. Instead, he nonchalantly commented that it suited her. 

 Suddenly, he lifted her sword, instantly snatching her attention; her widened eyes latched onto the sharpened metal, taking in its well-cared for form, and relief rushed through her. Griffith himself inspected the sword, “It’s an amazing sword,” 

He held it towards her, and she was quick to grasp it, though he refrained from releasing it, until he locked eyes with her, and informed her that, “I could never wield it. 

With that, he finally released his grip, and allowed her to reclaim her blade. The familiar weight was welcomed, despite her body protesting the strain it places on her still tender wound. Watching the relief color her face, Griffith continued to watch her, before a friendly smile spread across his lips--which swiftly turned into one of amusement, when Guts once again became wary at the gesture. Turning on his booted heel, he began striding away from her still form; though before he got too far, he called over his shoulder,

“Would you accompany me?” She seemed put off at his request, but all the same, after a quick trip to her given tent, where she acquired a worn shirt, they set off.

 As they strolled through the encampment, it became exceedingly obvious that Guts was not welcomed. “So,” she began, sarcasm dripping from that single syllable, “Who are these guys? The ones practically glaring holes into me?” Griffith glanced at her from over his shoulder, and she suppressed the shiver those eyes brought forth, her jaw clenching with the effort. 

He studied her for a moment, before breaking informing her, “The Band of the Hawk.”

Her eyes widen in recognition, and her spine straightened in response to her increased wariness. Griffith immediately took note of it, even went so far as to smirk, before asking innocently if she’s heard of them. With a mumbled confirmation, Guts swiftly averted her eyes, and once again to stock of the men around her, though she was more diligent this time around. This time around, she picked up on the way they held themselves. They were young, shockingly so, but they’ve seen more than one battle, that’s for sure. She also knew that if they hadn’t been aiding the other-side, that castle siege would’ve been handled within three days--not three months.

Conversation had ceased after that, the pair walking sedately towards where-ever Griffith was leading them to. 

Finally, they began hiking up a small hill, Guts taking note of how far they had wandered from the encampment. Her hackles still riled, she began questioning why Griffith led her away from prying eyes--she had many questions, actually, and she was determined to get answers.

“Why?” she bluntly asked, as soon as Griffith was done bullshitting around. The man hadn’t bothered to turn around at her inquiry, so she continued. “Why did you miss? It should’ve been easy for you--for you to kill me.” At that, he finally turned around and studied her. A pregnant pause filled the space between them, only interrupted by the idle breeze, and rustling trees that surrounded below them.

“Because, I wanted you Guts.” His proclamation instantly put her off, causing her to look at him sideways. All she could mutter, was a pathetic and distrustful,  _ what? _

He seemed entertained at her reaction, before clarifying his meaning. “We happened to also be present, during the castle siege, and even fortunate enough to witness your one-on-one battle with Bazuso.” His amusement dimmed somewhat. “It was admirable, but dangerous.” 

Her brow ticked up in question, one he was quick to answer. “If Bazuso’s battle ax hadn’t shattered, it would’ve been you with the cloven head.” She considered it, head tilting from side to side, before finally shrugging. “Probably.”

Chuckling, he commended her on the honesty of her statement, before growing serious, as he once again spoke his observations, “The way you fight, it’s almost as if you’re gambling with your own life.” 

She had grown relaxed somewhat, throughout these talks, but  _ that  _ statement--spoken with such surety--had her tense once again, disbelief coloring her face, and eyes widened in alarm. He had turned away from her, once again, so he missed her making an aborted move towards her blade. Clenching her fists resolutely to her sides, Guts decided to wait for him to choose the outcome of this situation. 

He prattled on, his tone morphing back, and forth between admiration, to analytical, as he verbally analyzed her battle philosophy. Her all the while, growing tenser and tenser with each word, subtly squirming under his complete dissection of her. He ended his spoken thoughts with, “You’re interesting.” looking towards her still form with a friendly smile, but there was no hiding that dark gleam in his eyes, that spoke far more volume than his words.

He inched closer to her, “I’ve taken a liking to you; I want you, Guts.” 

Her thoughts whirled, and raged within her mind; hands shaking with suppressed fury, and hackles raised in defense, Guts could do nothing but stare at Griffith. He had pierced through her, what she had believed, strong defenses like it was nothing, and she felt vulnerable and exposed. So, she did what her instincts screamed at her to do: she lashed out.

“And if I said no?” She hissed, eyes narrowed at the surprised look that donned his fair face.

“Do you?” he sounded beyond puzzled, as if her refusing his offer never once crossed his mind, which just incensed her even more. She barged into his space, practically screaming when she rebuffed him.

“You bet your ass! Hell  **_NO_ ** !” Her injury instantly made itself known, the intensity causing her to double over. Gritting her teeth, she glared up towards him. “Talkin’ like you know me--what  _ do you _ know, hah!?” Seeing that she was growing volatile, Griffith began to calmly backtrack, claiming that it wasn’t about  _ knowing  _ her--that it was something that he  _ felt. _ She wasn’t having it.

Forcing herself through the pain, she carefully lifted herself from her hunched position, clutching her wound and flinching from the twinge of pain that followed. She used the pain to fuel her anger, adrenaline flowing through her and preparing her for the looming fight that she sought.

“ _ You’re  _ the ones who attacked  _ me _ : like hell I’d forget that,” Once more at full height, she snarled at his seemingly calm visage, “ _ And _ lest you forgot:  _ I  _ killed one of yours.” Did he think she was stupid? Their ‘little walk’ through the camp spoke volumes, the distrustful and dismayed looks shot her way proved her words true; she was seen as an enemy, not a friend, not after she killed one of their comrades. Was he so naive as to think that she would be accepted within their ranks with open arms? That they would easily forget what she had done? That she would blindly agree to join his little band, all because of some bullshit speech he pulled out of his ass?

_ Like  _ **_HELL_ ** .

He asked what she would do, and in response she gave him a feral grin and brandished her sword.


End file.
